Engaged
by RobinRocks
Summary: America and England decide to put the Transatlantic Telephone Room to better use. Too bad Churchill needs to make a phonecall. Implied USUK.


So a few weeks back, my chum **AutumnDynasty** and I visited the Churchill Museum situated in the original War Cabinet Rooms, which are a series of rooms and tunnels built underneath Downing Street, London, for use by the prime minister and his war cabinet during the Blitz; and we found ourselves cackling in a way that only people that have had their minds poisoned by _Hetalia Axis Powers_ can when we saw a teeny-tiny room entitled the 'Transatlantic Telephone Room'. This room, "disguised" as the only room with a flushing toilet, contained a telephone connected from the United Kingdom to the United States and was used exclusively by Winston Churchill to call his BFF Franklin D. Roosevelt to discuss tactics/manoeuvres/deals-that-totally-wouldn't-bankrupt-Britain.

And then she challenged me to write this.

XD

Engaged

**[1942]**

America was not the most patient of people.

In fact, he was more a "Time is of the essence" sort of fellow than a "Good things come to those who wait" one and didn't like to beat about the bush when it came to getting what he wanted; England, having known him since he was a very small child, had always chalked this up to the fact that America simply had a very short attention span and was, by this point, aware of it and therefore tried to get things done whilst he remembered them.

Which – regarding all _this_ – was perhaps a little insulting, come to think of it.

Still, it was somewhat difficult to be annoyed rather than (in a odd, roundabout way) flattered when America came bounding across the airfield ahead of his lines and lines of make-yourselves-at-home troops stationing here in the UK, all but sprinting towards the small gaggle of British officials and officers all in green waiting to greet them with a huge grin of his face. He moved quickly down the line, offering the palm-down American salute as an answer to every British palm-out one, babbling about how he was happy to help out the Allied cause and that he couldn't wait to go postal on Japan. When at last he reached the end of the line, he shook hands warmly with England's boss, a small round bulldog of a man with a neat bowler hat and a cigar clamped between his teeth (a stubborn, determined chap of over sixty with a wonderful way with words and half-British, half-American blood coursing in his veins).

Winston Churchill smiled his finest grimace-smile at America, already knowing and liking him immensely, and moved him on himself towards England; who, situated at the end of the line, was standing less rigidly than his countrymen, having never felt the need to go out of his way to impress America. His uniform was dirty from where he had spent the morning helping to clear some of the damage from the Blitz raid the night before and he was so tired that he welcomed America's embrace wholeheartedly because it let him lean on him for a moment.

"How ya been, baby?" America whispered in his ear.

"Better," England replied honestly. "But you're here now."

"Yeah." America pulled away again and pumped the air with his fist. "You British guys can rest easy because the hero and his awesome back-up are here to save the day!"

There was a unanimous cheer from the crowd of American soldiers; England didn't have time to make the pithy comment about how they seemed happy enough to be categorised as "back-up" he would have liked to because America slung a heavy arm around him and started to march him away across the airfield towards the string of cars waiting for them, humming what England definitely recognised as Glenn Miller's version of 'American Patrol' – which was a bit rude but sort of typical.

Oh, well; at least he caught sight of Churchill giving a humorous roll of his eyes, one he'd seen many times before.

_Americans_.

—

At the back of the single-file line traipsing through the narrow corridors of the War Cabinet Rooms deep beneath Downing Street, it was easy for America to grab him right before they turned the corner and pull him back, covering his mouth to keep him from yelping in shock.

"_Sshhh_," America said, jokingly putting a finger to his lips. His blue eyes glittered impishly behind his glasses as he took hold of England's wrists and pushed him against the wall.

"What in blazes do you think you're doing?" England hissed at him. "We have a meeting to go to!"

"All in good time," America murmured, nuzzling against his neck. "C'mon, England, it's been _months_. I can tell you now that I can't _possibly_ sit in that tiny cramped room next to you all afternoon without going mad—"

"You _are_ mad!" England snapped, wrestling with America's hold on him. "We don't have time for this, America! I say, let go of me!"

"No way!" America tried to kiss him and pouted when England deliberately turned his face aside. "Aww, England, come on. Please? Please please _please_? We'll make it real quick, I promise!"

"They'll still notice we're gone, you fool!" England bit out, although he could feel his resolve wavering a little as America started to devour his neck above his dusty shirt collar. "A-America...! Stop th-that at once!"

"So we'll say we got lost," America chirped. "They'll believe us – this place is a total maze!"

"_I_ know my way around it, idiot!"

"But_ I_ don't," America pointed out. "And_ I_ got lost and you had to come find me, okay?"

He succeeded in kissing England this time; England fought him for long moment, really very annoyed at how impatient he was when there would be time enough for this later, plenty and plenty of time now that America had stationed over here—

But – to his own disappointment – he eventually gave in because America was right: It _had_ been months and he had missed him perhaps more than he would like to admit.

"Alright," he panted, breaking the kiss, "as long as we're quick." He glanced about the dimly-lit corridor. "But not here." He took America's hand and started to pull at him, leading him back the way they had come. "Come on, this way. I know where we won't be disturbed."

America trotted along after him happily as England led him back along another corridor to a tiny room with a lock on the door.

"What's this?" America asked as England went into one of the pockets of his jacket in search of something.

"This is the Transatlantic Telephone Room," England muttered, fishing out a small bunch of keys and locating the one needed to open the door. "Only my boss and I are allowed in here so no-one will walk in on us." He swiftly opened the door and glanced about again, checking the coast was clear, before ushering America inside. "Go on, get in before someone comes looking for us."

England followed America into the room and closed the door again quickly, locking it. America was momentarily distracted from molesting him, glancing about the room. It really _was_ very small and narrow, a sort of downsized one-person office with a chair, a small desk and, upon it, the room's crowning glory: a telephone connected to the United States.

"Is this where you call me from?" America asked, stepping forwards to prod at the phone curiously.

"Yes – and it's where my boss calls your boss," England said shortly, slapping America's hand away from the phone. "Now don't break it, for goodness' sake!"

"I won't," America said sweetly, turning towards him and using his emerald tie to pull him close; he pushed up his glasses and grinned. "I can't make any promises about _you_, though."

—

England had no idea how long they had been in here but he was mindful of the fact that they hadn't made it as quick as they'd originally intended to because they were on their third round when the door opened and Winston Churchill stood on the threshold with his cigar midway towards his mouth and his eyebrows raised.

Of course, by then it was far too late to do anything – they hadn't heard the footsteps in the corridor, they hadn't heard the clatter and click of the door being unlocked and England had – unfortunately – been crying America's name in ecstasy at the exact moment the door swung open.

He didn't even know what made him open his eyes at that exact moment – but he froze in utter horror and mortification when he saw his boss standing in the doorway. It took America a while to notice that England had stopped responding, lifting his mouth from where England's half-open shirt granted him access to his collarbone.

"What's the matter, baby?" he panted, a teasing smile spreading across his face. "Gone numb from the pleasure?"

England shook his head mutely, discomfited but unable to tear his gaze away from Churchill's. America noticed that he wasn't looking at him and turned to glance over his shoulder in confusion.

"What's—_Oh_." America didn't seem to know whether he should go white or red and simply floundered somewhere in between. "Um, h-hey, England's boss! What's up?"

England wanted to hit him but, on the other hand, it was more than _he_ could say – or do. He was still completely frozen, just staring and staring at his boss in dismay and humiliation and only glad that, in the position he and America were in (he sitting on the desk and America standing), America actually blocked everything from view where Churchill was standing.

Churchill eventually gave a small sigh and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. England, white in the face, clung more tightly to the lapels of America's uniform jacket as Churchill approached the desk. Just when he'd thought that this couldn't _possibly_ get any worse...

"I need to use the telephone," Churchill explained blandly, reaching past England and picking up the receiver, "to inform President Roosevelt that his troops have arrived safely. You two carry on and don't mind me."

"Um," America said faintly, adjusting his arms around England's back to hold him more comfortably now that they weren't rocking back and forwards in a rhythm. "W-we... we can wait... until you're d-done, sir..."

America apparently didn't much like the thought of going at it with England whilst England's boss was occupying the same tiny room as them and was on the phone to _his_ boss – which England felt was fair enough.

Churchill shrugged and began to dial.

"Suit yourselves," he said, and he sat down with the phone at his ear.

There was a very long, uncomfortable moment of silence, punctuated only by the tinny, faint ringing at the other end of the line; England wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the thick fur collar of America's brand new bomber jacket and hide like a child would but he had more dignity than that and instead busied himself trying to pull down his green uniform jacket to cover as much of his exposed thighs as possible and endeavouring to ignore the fact that America was still inside him and he had his legs wrapped around him and his boss was _sitting right there_.

Eventually, however, Churchill put down the phone again, looking a tad annoyed.

"Engaged," he said gruffly; and he got up again and shuffled towards the door, leaving a bitter ribbon of cigar smoke coiling after him long after he had closed the door behind him without another word.

"Huh," America said, raking a hand through his hair, "pity there's no way of signifying that this fucking _room_ is engaged." He smiled at England, who had – at last – gone a flaming shade of crimson. "Still, he took it pretty well – didn't seem surprised at all, actually! Now, where were we...?"

England slumped against him with a disgusted groan, feeling every ounce of strength sap out of his body to pool on the floor alongside his pride.

"America," he moaned, "do engage your bloody _brain_ once in a while, won't you?"

* * *

Winston Churchill...

**a.]** was half-American, his mother a New York heiress by the name of Jennie Jerome

**b.] **liked Americans/America itself very much, visiting it several times (a big feat back then!), writing books about the history of it and eventually becoming the only Brit to ever be officially recognised as an honorary American

**c.] **coined the term "Special Relationship" to describe USA-UK military/cultural relations

**d.] **would totally have fangirled over the USUK pairing had _Hetalia_ been around back then. XD Without a _doubt_. I have said this before but, as far as a fictionalised "in-_Hetalia_" version of England's boss goes, I am certain that he would have VERY MUCH APPROVED of England dating America – given that he spent a lot of time campaigning for further closeness between the two nations, suggesting that one day the USA and UK public(s) might even share dual-citizenship – and probably would have suggested an "engagement" of a different nature, lololololol.

Well, that's all, folks!** AutumnDynasty**, hope you liked it! We totally have to go back and skulk around London again soon! ^-^

RobinRocks xXx


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